Donna the Goldfish
by mathemusician
Summary: John thought that maybe this year he could convince Sherlock to admit his affections for his brother. One-shot.


**Usual Disclaimers apply  
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**This was written as a request from my friend Donna, who, after watching Sherlock: the Empty Hearse (#3.1), wanted to be Mycroft's goldfish.**

**Not sure if she meant it this literally, but it turned into a cute story I wanted to share.**

Donna the Goldfish

"What are you getting Mycroft for his birthday?"  
>John thought that maybe this year he could convince Sherlock to admit his affections for his brother.<p>

"Why should I get him anything? He never gets me anything."  
>"Well maybe if you have him something he would."<p>

"I don't want anything he gives me"  
>John sighed exasperatedly. "Is there nothing you think he needs, which he doesn't have?"<p>

After ignoring the question for long enough that John had stopped listening, Sherlock paused his bow on the string with a small smirk.  
>"A goldfish", he stated simply before continuing his serenade.<p>

John glanced up from his paper at the comment, but Sherlock would not respond to anything he asked when in this mood, so he released his in-taken breath and went back to reading, only occasionally pausing with a frown to glance up at his friend, wondering if he had really heard correctly.  
>'A goldfish?' he mouthed at Mrs Hudson. She just smiled sadly and shrugged. "Don't ask me, dear. I never understood the boy. Although I can't for the life of me work out why those who brothers wont just admit they care. Such a pity."<p>

And that was that; plans were made. John bought and set up a goldfish bowl, ready for the goldfish which he was determined to make Sherlock choose. Unfortunately for his plans, the great detective may be brilliant, but he is also childish and stubborn, and even the patient John reached the end of his tether when on the day itself, Sherlock still refused to go along with his plans.

"It is a shame, letting his efforts go to waste dear." Mrs Hudson commented softly while serving Sherlock tea, as John stormed back to his room huffily.

"Efforts?"

"Well, yes. Setting up the tank all ready, and all the research. He.."

"Fine!" Sherlock interrupted and swept through the house, collecting his cloak and John. Calling belatedly up the stairs "Mrs Hudson, we are leaving!", they left.

They were halfway down the street before John's mind caught up with his body, and he found himself being dragged down the street by Sherlock, with no shoes on. "Wait a minute. Hey! Sherlock, STOP!"

"What now? You wanted to go shopping so we are going shopping."

John stared disbelievingly at him, glanced pointedly at his feet, and then stood there silently; waiting for the selectively observant man to, for once, actually notice his needs without having to have them pointed out to him.

"Why aren't you wearing shoes, John? ... Don't just stare at me, why… oh..OH! … I suppose you want me to go get them."

So John was left standing in the street pinching the bridge of his nose and forcing calming breaths between mutterings of 'I'm going to kill him. One of these days, I'm just going to …' His hands reached out to mime strangling an imaginary Sherlock, and a mother pulled her children closer to her as they passed the mad man.

Forty minutes later, the assistant in the pet shop was befuddled.

Two men had come into the shop seemingly with the intention to buy a goldfish, but had almost instantly started arguing, claiming that it was the other's choice and that they neither actually wanted the fish themselves. They were currently standing back to back, pointedly glaring in opposite directions, and since they were putting off the other customers, the poor boy had to interrupt them.

"Uhhmm, sir.."  
>But neither man noticed his attempts because John chose that precise moment to spin around and murmur soft words that had more power than if he had shouted them.<p>

"You… you were dead. I moved on, and now… now you expect me to follow you around, do as you will, and everything to be exactly as it was. Well listen here Sherlock! I will _not_ spoon feed your fantasies any more. You need to grow up! Do or don't get your brother a present. That is your choice. I am going home to my wife. Good day." and with that last farewell, he was gone, leaving Sherlock staring at a tank of goldfish.

As he stared, one little fish caught his eye. It seemed to always manage to swim in the opposite direction to all the other fish, and occasionally it would trip over the coral. _Do fish _trip_ over things? Curious…_ The fish kept his interest for over a minute before the shop assistant finally got up the courage to interrupt again. "Sir…"  
>"This one." Sherlock abruptly pointed.<br>He held his chosen fish in its bag up to his eyes and stared at it. It was upside down. The shop assistant, horrified, offered to replace it, but as soon as Sherlock looked away, the fish flipped over and swam around again. Sherlock was sure. This fish would keep his brother's interest longer than a human.

Suddenly realising that he had been thinking of actually doing something nice for his brother, he almost gave the fish back, but a familiar face caught his eye and reminded him why he was doing this. _John_. But it wasn't John. Just a hedgehog. Still… it reminded him and he laughed, startling the boy assistant. "And that hedgehog." The boy was a little uncertain at letting this man have another pet, but another customer recognised him. "Sherlock Holmes! It's an honour to meet you!"  
>'With a name comes a great power, and great responsibility' The boy could not remember where he had read this before, but he knew that it was taken as true by many. Sherlock Holmes had responsibilities, and so whether he was responsible or not, he would be perceived to be so by the public, and the poor boy would have no grounds for preventing the sale. Grudgingly, he handed over the hedgehog too.<p>

Mrs Watson opened the door when he knocked. He rejected her offers to come in and gave her the goldfish. John never appeared when she called back through the house for him, and Sherlock put the box with the hedgehog into her other hand. "I believe it is customary to apologise under these circumstances. Give this to him." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "It reminded me of him."

She laughed and opened the box, which only made her laugh harder when seeing the image of John as a hedgehog. Sherlock was gone by the time she looked up.

"Don't open the door to him anymore. You don't have to put up with his nonsense." John huffed as his wife entered the living room brandishing the goldfish in its bag.

"Awww don't be like that. I told you; I like Sherlock. He came to apologise. Here.." and she placed Johnhog on his lap.

She gently poured the fish into its new home and they watched it swimming erratically around.  
>"It's weird. Trust Sherlock to find a weird one." John muttered with false grudge, before pushing himself off the couch. "I had better give this to Mycroft then, since we got this far." This earned him a peck on the cheek, and then a longer kiss as he left.<p>

By the time he was standing in the silent parlour at parliament with a goldfish bowl and several grumpy old men, however, his good humour had left him, and he had to resist being short with Mycroft when he rejected the present.

"Don't be ridiculous. My brother has never done anything for me before. Why should he start now? Don't try and cover for his flaws in character by pretending he decided to give me a birthday present."

"True… but he did say you wanted a goldfish, and..."

"I am _not_ lonely"

"...and _ he_ chose the fish."

"Well I don't want anything from him."

John sighed and put the bowl on Mycroft's desk before leaving.

"I really don't want…." but it was a half hearted attempt at calling John back.

Mycroft couldn't keep the smile off his face as the door shut, but he pulled it quickly into a frown. He must not let himself become weak. Weak is for the common folk; for the goldfishes.  
>He bent over the bowl and looked through the glass. "Dear, dear pet, am I becoming weak?" It responded by swimming straight at him into the glass. He wasn't going to give it a name; that would almost be like defeat, but from that day, whenever he was pacing his office with one trouble or other, he would glance over at the daft little fish and it would always make him smile; at least, until he remembered himself.<p> 


End file.
